The Nation Of Fables
by Suzume Jun
Summary: Scotland never found England that day in the woods. Growing up without other Nations around, just how different is England today? Does he even exist? Rated T for mentioned or implied death and the language used.


Summery: Scotland never found England that day in the woods. Growing up without other Nations around, just how different is England today? Does he even exist?

Warnings: Rated T for mentioned or implied death and the language used.

Disclaimers: I OWN NOTHING! So please don't sue me. Thank you. This was simply written for fun, nothing mentioned is in anyway meant to offend you. I'm sorry if it does.

The Nation Of Fables

-I'm a Pretty Line -

A ten-year-old stands in the middle of the forest that was home. He didn't truly understand why he had come here. The part of the forest his brothers and him hunted in was on the complete opposite side and Britannia had actually told them herself to avoid this side if at all possible since it's fae population was strongest here.

Never the less the tall emerald eyed red head found himself standing there.

Turning around he heads back to his two younger brothers never hearing the slight movement of a nearby bush that would have given away the location of one five-year-old dirt covered boy.

And tears fall from the heavens as history derails itself for the first time.

-Look at me! I'm a line! -

Scotland looks out his window at the poring rain outside and sighs. In a way he knows he should be grateful for it. The Romans were not used to such weather while his people had grown up with it their entire lives. But he couldn't, just as he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was missing.

Not since that day he found himself pulled into Fae territory by a lonely cry that rung in his ears.

The day he had followed the whisper of what sounded like a young boy to what seemed to be the source yet found no one.

The day the rain started.

His brothers hadn't been so lucky as to escape the Romans for this long. Wales had been taken and Ireland was cast as undesirable, trapped on a neighboring island close by.

He had failed to protect them…

A pain so strong he doubles over from it consumes him with out warning and he hits the ground unconscious.

…He had failed to even protect himself.

-Scotland's Point of View -

Life as a Roman province was far from pleasant but not completely a living hell. Mostly because I got to live with Wales at a castle the Roman's had built called Fishbourne in West Sussex. Their Nation lived with us as well as the human that was appointed our 'Governor'. Apparently we were stuck with him until the rebellions died down and the Governor was there until a new one took his place. It was amusing to prank the Governor but the Roman Nation was terrifying when he was angry and not afraid to show it to us in the most painful ways he could. Worst was after a failed rebellion or when we didn't use Latin like he wanted us to. Don't know why, Gaelic sounds a lot better and the people here already know it.

I learned a lot while under his control, does NOT mean I liked it, mostly of Gods and the outside world. But what interested me the most was something the Empire would be furious enough to kill me should he find out I knew…

…I was interested about a third party in our Rebellion.

The people were neither my brother's nor mine. They spoke Old Celt like Ireland and every once in a while some variation of broken Latin mixed with Gaelic or Celt if not some gibberish I couldn't understand. Fairer then our people but much more wild they reminded me of human Fae. It had seemed strange to me when I realized that neither Wales nor I took damage for the thing inflicted on the land between out countries.

Now I knew why….

The damage went to a seemingly four or five year old boy with Britannia's golden colored hair soft as Chinese silk and the Emerald shade that made up my family's eyes. I had yet to see him myself as we are not allowed outside but the prisoners kept here all speak of the same boy under the soldier's chosen method of 'encouragement'. And humans often come to the Roman Nation with complaints of a young barbarian boy with hip length blonde hair, green eyes and pointed ears I have concluded to be Elfin. They also talk of carvings on his skin that I cannot place without seeing myself. Apparently they are carved into one side of his face and up the opposite arm. The more I learn of him the more certain I am of why I was in the woods that day, of what _should_ have happened but _did _not, of yet another one of my failures…

…I was supposed to meet and maybe even bring home with me a third brother.

From the talk of the Human Fae I don't know yet what I feel about this failure. After all…

He at least is still free, a statement that doesn't apply to the rest of the family.

Looking out my bedroom window as I stroke the silky blonde hair of my sleeping Welsh brother I murmur the name I had learned earlier today into the night.

"Sasanna…"

-Let's Make A Line! -

Looking around at the destruction that surrounds me I feel horrible for all the pain we have caused Sasanna in our quest for freedom. Knowing that even though the war is over and we have won that boy is without a doubt going to be recovering from this for years to come. A ten-year-old Wales comes up next to me and grabs my hand, though he is shorter then I was at his age coming up to my shoulder now. It seems so long ago that he was seven and playing in the hills with his dragons, myself having aged five years since. When he squeezes my captured hand I squeeze back, avoiding looking in his eyes because I know I will see my own emotions reflected in the emerald pools that had seen too much death and pain for my liking.

Suddenly I am walking again without a word as both of us have deemed talking as unnecessary and harmful more then helpful, decision that more than likely will live with us long into the Roman-less future ahead of us. He follows me, drawn by the same silent cry that I recognize immediately as the indicator that our youngest brother's presence is nearby. Neither of us is ready for what we encounter, the depth of the consequences for everything too deep for us to grasp.

He had heard our presence as well and though it is currently far from the hostile scream that had belonged to the Roman Empire he flees. But it gives us hope anyway. For we have seen him.

Yes, he is heavily scarred and bleeding. In desperate need for medical attention we don't doubt for a second he will receive. Yes, he has Britannia's long golden blonde hair though the texture is definitely softer than Chinese silk. If compared to anything it should be to Elvin cloth, nothing human made could ever achieve the softness his hair seemed to have. Yes, there were carvings into the left side of his face, down his neck, and up his right forearm. The symbols and words were a combination of Gaelic, Celtic, random Fae, and one or two bits of Latin. Yes, his pointed ears and several other slightly inhuman seeming attributes to his appearance make him so obviously one of those monsters we call Fae. Yes, his emerald eyes reveal pain, hatred, fear, distrust, and no recognition at all that we are his brothers. If anything he seems to believe us to be monsters dead set on hurting him. We can do nothing to disprove this as we are still covered in blood from the battlefield. But none of that can overturn our relief in that moment. Our minds are only capable of one single thought…

…He truly exists.

When he runs from us we only follow him with our eyes, eyes that won't see him again for decades…

-Come on, you know you want to give me a line. -

The next time I see him is during the reign of the Tudor family.

What I see scares me without a doubt. The frightened but strong five-year-old Wales and I had encountered in the woods has grown up to be a short ten-year-old, his hair messily chopped off just above his neck as if he had cut it with a knife to get away from a captor. Scars mar his otherwise marble skin; proof of the harm the current royal family is bringing down on their country. As convinced as the Bolyne girl has our king that he can do no wrong. Karma's always been an unforgiving bitch. I can't wait to see how she will end up once she falls from his good graces. I know for a fact Spain is furious because of her. Though not at us since it has long been declared among us Nations that the actions of a human is not the fault of their respective Nation.

The carvings though aged and for some reason covering the exact percentage of him as before, are exactly the same. Only seeming to add to his now tainted inhuman beauty not detract. What hits me the most is what I had failed to comprehend during our previous meeting. The too thin body, sleep deprivation caused bags under his eyes, and the undeniable yet implacable knowledge that before me is a Nation in danger of dieing not due to war on a battlefield…

…But due to there being no one left to be the representation of.

The information is stored away for later so I can act on it. What also hit me are the emotions in his eyes: pain, hatred, fear, distrust, and recognition. Not the recognition that I am his older brother.

The recognition that I am human.

That I am dangerous.

That I am a threat.

That I will hurt and maybe even kill him.

Frozen in shock I am unable to move for a moment let alone chase after him when he once again runs from me. My youngest brother believes me to be a monster more then happy at the idea of his painful, drawn out death. When I shake out of it and follow after him he is gone. For decades no amount of searching or teaching can locate him again. When Anne Bolyne gets her head chopped off I cheer. When King Henry dies I am the first to celebrate. The children are my only chance of keeping him alive and their reign nearly killed their belief in magic. For now I know that no matter how well off Sasanna's human population is doing it doesn't matter. Unlike ours, which is connected to our land and humans, his life is connected to his land and Fae…

…And the only one I have to blame for that is myself.

-LINEEEEEEE! -

I sit there by his bedside a constant unmovable presence. No matter what Wales and Ireland do in their attempt to get me to sleep I refuse to cave to such a human need, not now. Not after we had finally found him again.

Sasanna had been unconscious in the woods behind our family house in what had been named our capital all the way back during the time of the Roman occupation. I couldn't tell what was affecting him worse, the Blitz or how little room it left for a child's imagination.

But by far he was in the worst condition of the four of us.

Not a single area of his currently six-year-old body wasn't covered in cuts, burns, or bruises. His complexion was deathly pale and he gave off the impression of someone right on death's doorstep. We had all de-aged due to the war. I was now twelve, Ireland was ten, and Wales had become eight again. But even for a Nation Sasanna aged slowly. The chance of him ever regaining the years he had lost were slim to none should he even survive.

He had to survive though; we couldn't lose him before we had truly met him.

Looking at the pitiful boy attached to an IV while sleeping on the bed we had set up for him when we had bought the house I wish more then anything in the world I had brought him back with me that day now so long ago. At some point I must have lost my fight with human need because when I wake up…

…The bed is empty.

- Imagine A Line Here! -

When I see Sasanna again I _know_ it is my last chance.

March 6th, 2029 finds me back in the forest I had hunted in before the Roman occupation. Taking in the sights of one out of only five wild forests left in the world. Technology had taken over the world leaving behind little room for imagination and outdoor life. The presence I hear in my mind's ear is quiet, nearly non-existent. If I hadn't been searching for it there was no way I would have picked up on it.

He was there, sitting in the center of the same clearing he was in centuries ago.

There was no way he hadn't heard my presence approach him yet he hadn't run. His emerald eyes are like an open book to me and I wonder, just for a moment, what our relationship would be like now if I had brought him home with me back then. From what I can see the bruising on his five-year-old body is gone and other than a badly healed rib his injuries are limited to the carvings that still marks his skin. But the lack of injury does nothing to lower my concern.

He hasn't been eating…

…Or sleeping, or bathing, or anything that would take even minimal effort for him to do. Those eyes scare me because they portray a lonely hopelessness. Seeing him I know the reason he hasn't run isn't because he wishes to be our brother in more than just blood…

…He hasn't run because he no longer has the will to do so.

My youngest brother has lost the will to live.

When I pick him up from the ground cautiously, giving him time to react, he simply stares blankly at me with the soulless eyes of the dead. Not making a single sound. The rise and fall of his chest is the only indicator I receive that he is even still alive. Right then I make the decision to do what should have already been done…

…I bring my youngest brother home…

-Anyone want a line? -

The meeting hall is dead silent when I finish telling the story we had kept to ourselves since the very beginning. Even Germany is shocked at the British Isles' addition to the current assignment. Today we had entered the meeting hall to find the assignment from our bosses was a little different then usual. The smirks I feel in the presences of my eighteen-year-old Irish brother in the seat right of me and my fifteen-year-old Welsh brother to my left shows that my feelings are not unshared.

_Nations will go in alphabetical order and tell the complete story of something that no other Nation knows._

Yep, the British Isles had blown that competition out of the water so to speak.

Then they start to react all at the same time. If we hadn't been the targets of it the entire thing would be hilarious. As it was though it was simply annoying. We are sworn at in every language possible, called everything from liars to horrible older brothers, and only past experiences keep a few of them from actually getting physically violent. Germany tries to regain control but no actual success results from his attempts. Even an angry German rant cannot hush the mob that is forming against us.

But the door opening can and does…

It takes a little while for everyone to process the entrance of a seven-year-old boy with large childish emerald eyes and a waist length golden braid of soft hair. And when he walks through the still forming mob to us seeming as if he is not walking but floating those who have noticed stop their protests in order to stare at him. Even Japan with his uptight insistence on being polite cannot help but gape at the inhuman presence of our little brother. Shocked that we had been telling the truth, silence once again falls over the room in a wave-like manner only Sasanna has the ability to cause.

Head held high he float-walks through the parting sea of Nations and stops in front of me; a smile passes between the four of us. Though his is small, elegant, and dream-like while ours are loving smirks that surprise those Nations who previously accused us of being barbarians incapable of feeling such a complicated emotion let alone show it to anyone. We can't help it though. Most would have tried to humanize the Human Fae Personification standing before us, especially in this day and age. The proof to that is the Nordic Nation of Norway. His absence also proved what would have been the result of such a mission…

...The Norwegian representative wasn't here at the meeting because said Personification was dead.

But we hadn't. Instead we had simply introduced him to the culture he had been terrified of all his life. I don't claim it was easy. In no way was doing so a walk in the park so to say. After he had seemingly woken up from his statue-like state was the hardest…

-Flashback-

I was cooking dinner in the kitchen. It was one of the few "improvements" I had absolutely refused to allow into the home of the British Isles Personifications. I'm perfectly capable of cooking for myself and my brothers thank you very much. When a soul-shaking scream rings through the house I drop my knife and sprint up the stairs two or three at a time. Meeting up with my brothers outside the door to the room we had placed Sasanna in until we were sure a repeat of what happened during the Blitz wouldn't occur. Unlocking the door we go into the room we had been working on since that incident to find our youngest brother curled up in a fetal position shaking like a leaf exposed to a hurricane.

Turning on the light proved fatal to our ears as yet another scream passes through his delicate lips. Instinct takes over, the lights are off and three older brothers are around the bed of their youngest in seconds. Ireland sits down on the bed a little ways away from Sasanna's cowering form and Wales stands off to the side of the bed as I climb onto it before wrapping him protectively in my arms. At first none of us have any idea what to do with the terrified creature in our midst, half blaming ourselves for the condition he was in.

I don't know how I think of it or why, maybe in that moment of desperation I was grasping for as many straws as I could, but I remember the song Britannia used to sing to us when we were scared and the words just pour forth from my lips. To our surprise it works and from there it was as if someone had finally opened the door between his world and our own. Clothes, food, language, even history and culture are taught and learned between us.

-End of Flashback-

Looking back I find the memory one of my favorites. Those carvings on his body indicate his position in his people's society and work as a bond to his clan as well as a protection charm against outsiders. Had he ever taken a mate their symbol would have been placed over his heart and his over theirs, but he had never been entered into the mating pool since he was so different from the others. He showed us his mark too. It was placed on the inside of his left forearm down towards his wrist. A thorn-steamed crimson rose lay next to a sleeping lion cub. It was beautiful yes, but all I could do at the moment was smile in relief that the boy in front of me had yet to be introduced to the world of carnal desires. That could have gone terribly in the future if he had, especially if they had taught him the horrors and pain such an act could bring.

Picking up the child Nation I hold him to me possessively and he barriers his face in my neck, clutching onto the front of my shirt with both hands. Ireland and Wales discreetly move in front of us just enough to get the message of hostility across to the curious advancing Nations.

There was no way we would ever let him go again.

15


End file.
